them off at pleasure and without mercy, as the only bar to the triumph of truth and justice?  Or whether benevolence, constructed upon a logical scale, would not be merely nominal, whether duty, raised to too lofty a pitch of refinement, might not sink into callous indifference or hollow selfishness?  Again, is it not to exact too high a strain from humanity, to ask us to qualify the degree of abhorrence we feel against a murderer by taking into our cool consideration the pleasure he may have in committing the deed, and in the prospect of gratifying his avarice or his revenge?  We are hardly so formed as to sympathise at the same moment with the assassin and his victim.  The degree of pleasure the former may feel, instead of extenuating, aggravates his guilt, and shews the depth of his malignity.  Now the mind revolts against this by mere natural antipathy, if it is itself well-disposed; or the slow process of reason would afford but a feeble resistance to violence and wrong.  The will, which is necessary to give consistency and promptness to our good intentions, cannot extend so much candour and courtesy to the antagonist principle of evil:  virtue, to be sincere and practical, cannot be divested entirely of the blindness and impetuosity of passion!  It has been made a plea (half jest, half earnest) for the horrors of war, that they promote trade and manufactures.  It has been said, as a set-off for the atrocities practised upon the negro slaves in the West Indies, that without their blood and sweat, so many millions of people could not have sugar to sweeten their tea.  Fires and murders have been argued to be beneficial, as they serve to fill the newspapers, and for a subject to talk of—­ this is a sort of sophistry that it might be difficult to disprove on the bare scheme of contingent utility; but on the ground that we have stated, it must pass for a mere irony.  What the proportion between the good and the evil will really be found in any of the supposed cases, may be a question to the understanding; but to the imagination and the heart, that is, to the natural feelings of mankind, it admits of none!

Mr. Bentham, in adjusting the provisions of a penal code, lays too little stress on the cooperation of the natural prejudices of mankind, and the habitual feelings of that class of persons for whom they are more particularly designed.  Legislators (we mean writers on legislation) are philosophers, and governed by their reason:  criminals, for whose controul laws are made, are a set of desperadoes, governed only by their passions.  What wonder that so little progress has been made towards a mutual understanding between the two parties!  They are quite a different species, and speak a different language, and are sadly at a loss for a common interpreter between them.  Perhaps the Ordinary of Newgate bids as fair for this office as any one.  What should Mr. Bentham, sitting at ease in his arm-chair, composing his mind before he begins to write by a prelude on the organ, and